A Smile Is Worth a Thousand Words
by R J Lupin's Kat
Summary: Mary searches for the perfect gift to make Marshall smile again...  Written as a prompt response to Mary Marshall Hiatus Comment-Fic Fiesta.  One-shot.


**Disclaimer:** Only the unsettling plot is mine. Mary and Marshall and Stan all belong to David Maples… and Mary McCormack and Fred Weller and Paul Ben-Victor.

**Author's Note:** A response to Bujyo's prompt for the Mary_Marshall hiatus comment-fic party on Live Journal. Because the Muse bit me. Apologies, as it's a rushed deal, so not my best work.

**Prompt:** Mary/Marshall; gazebo, three weeks old, "something you can't give me"

**-o-o-0-o-o-**

**A Smile Is Worth a Thousand Words**

Mary cast a worried look across the picnic table at her partner. Uncharacteristically melancholy, he picked at his fried rice with little interest, gaze seemingly elsewhere.

"Hey," she nudged, breaking his reverie. "What's with you?"

The half-smile was half-hearted, missing his eyes. "Nothin'," he answered softly. Too softly. Mary didn't buy it. Several more attempts to pry the root of his mood from him resulted only in abandoned lunch and a change of subject as they headed for the truck.

This strange introversion had begun shortly after they'd left checking on her witnesses, the Kaden family. Honestly, Mary'd been pleased for the silence when they'd first left as an attractive alternative to the chaotic screeches of the visit. The Kaden's three-week-old daughter was having none of the antics of her elder siblings' running about with the yippy little dog in chase. Mary wasn't sure her ears would ever recover, and had been about to call the check-in a total loss when Marshall had taken up the infant's coddling, relieving Sandra Kaden in her frayed-nerve state and Jonas Kaden his at-wits'-end fatigue.

Never before had Mary been so thankful as to her best friend's ability to calm the ravaged soul. Or in this case, the savage beastie. Within twenty seconds little Janie had settled into a fascinated stare at his face, then soon drifted to sleep. For the rest of the visit, Marshall had kept the peace. But after then…

"So what's the plan for Friday?" she inquired, hoping to draw him from the silence now hovering like a dark cloud. He didn't even glance from the road. Simply shrugged one-shouldered.

"Oh, c'mon, Marshall. It's your birthday. You _always_ do something fun – for you, at least – and creative on your birthday. It's only me who ignores their entrance into the world." Several more requests and suggestions as to plans for celebration were met with an apathy so unlike him, Mary actually became quite concerned. Marshall rejoiced in holidays, made a particular fuss over those of familial gatherings and personal milestones. Birthdays were no exception. In fact, he took a particular interest in them second only to Christmas Eve. This was… unsettling.

Choosing another route, Mary ventured with a question whose answer might direct her before payment was due: she'd not yet bought his present, and this year was determined to do so on time for a change.

"So… what do you _want_ for your birthday, hm?" Visions of geek toys and techie gadgets filled her mind's eye, and a sigh reserved itself for the note-taking she'd have to do in order to get the terminology right for her last-minute trip to Best Buy. She hated the Geek Squad.

He was quiet for so long, she thought he wasn't going to answer. About to repeat herself, she halted at his soft, forlorn reply, barely audible over the GMC's purr.

"Nothing you can give me."

Shocked for a moment, Mary was just about to snap back with a 'what the hell does _that_ mean?' when he pulled into a space, put the truck in park and turned to her as he shut off the engine.

"Really, Mare," he continued with another one of those sad, crooked smiles. An effort made, but poorly disguised. "Don't worry about it. Just another day."

That was Monday.

The rest of the week flew by with all the normalcy of their days but for the subject of his birthday. By Thursday he'd given her an answer that he had a dinner date with his parents, would be taking the day off from work to make the drive. Mary didn't argue, but somehow she got the feeling he wasn't being truthful. This funk with regards to his birthday was disturbing. She wanted Marshall back – the Marshall she knew who did cutesy, childish little things to bring light-hearted happiness to a day set aside for appreciating life. Even Stan had noticed, giving Mary a queer, questioning look when Marshall'd responded to Stan's birthday events query with, 'Drinking… excessively.' He hadn't even looked up from his typing.

Plumbing fiasco and flaring tempers kept Mary out with Joe and Missy Devalt well past going-home time, and she'd missed Marshall leaving the office. She had been hoping to catch him for an invite for drinks since she wouldn't see him on the morrow, his birthday filled, apparently, with driving. Filling out paperwork before she left, herself, she raced over to Best Buy, hoping for some guidance by one of their well-informed floor managers. Only instead she found the land of _Marshall's Gift_ closed for the evening.

"That's just fuckin' _great_," she hissed beneath her breath, palm striking the Mustang's steering wheel with mounted frustrations. Feeling the need for a drink herself, she began her way home, cursing her procrastinating nature for failing once again to deliver on time_. Maybe that's what's got him so bummed,_ she thought. _He sees it coming, thinks I don't care enough to remember or make the effort_.

Fleeing home, Mary heads straight for her computer, Googling to find something that could be delivered to him at his parents' tomorrow. A perfect gift arriving on time. That would prove him she really cared, she thought with a smirk.

But his words of Monday afternoon would not leave her, replaying over and over in her mind, his face an expression of loss and regret. What did he want that she couldn't give him? What had upset him earlier that put in him in that frame of mind? What had triggered a desire that saddened him at the want of it, and made him so sure she couldn't get it for him? What had he seen or don–

And then it hit her. And it all fell into place. And she blanched, put her head between her knees to keep from fainting.

And Mary did not sleep that night. Pacing, thinking, talking aloud to the empty house in an effort to make sense or reason out of herself. But no matter what excuses or reasons or just arguments she made to expose the utter insanity of her idea, the image of Marshall's lost face blinded her mind, and nothing could ever be more important than stealing that expression away from him, that despondency of the last few days. And her mind was made up.

Friday's caseload ebbed and flowed like the desert wind, and Mary found herself free just as the sun was setting heavily on the horizon. Making her way home, she knew there was an ice cold beer with her name on it, perhaps the last one or two for quite some time. Some liquid courage. She had to call Marshall to wish him a happy day, and find out when he'd be back in town. But taking a route to swing by for take out from their favorite Thai restaurant, she caught sight of the GMC, sitting shaded by a huge oak of the community park. Pulling over, Mary scanned the twilight for Marshall, eyes finally settling on the gazebo far back from the walk.

He was clad in jeans and faded olive tee, feet bare and perched haphazardly on the bench curving beside his in the octagonal structure. His right side leaned slightly on the railing, seated sideways on the varnished boards. Eyes set away from her entrance, she wondered if he realized she was there, if indeed he was possibly drunk by the opaque bottle settled on the floor.

"Hello, Mary." His head never turned, and he'd given no other indication of his awareness of her presence. But Mary should have realized Marshall was always aware. Even in intoxication. Hell, the man played chess while downing a fifth of her good whiskey.

"Hey," she replied softly, hesitating in her approach. His presence here confirmed the directions her thoughts had taken her in the last 24 hours. "Thought you'd be at your parents…" she offered, knowing his response before he'd said it.

"Changed my mind." Right arm draped on the raised knee of his right leg, and still he stared out into the ever-darkening playground.

Finding nothing else to say, Mary licked her lips nervously, mouth dry in the fading heat. Casually she made for the bottle before pausing, eyes flashing to him. She could see his smirk in profile, and he softly snorted.

"It's raspberry tea." And though she made a face, she tried it anyway. _Not that bad, actually_.

"Happy birthday, Doofus," she said, attempting a normal timbre but realizing the failure just had he.

"I'm fine, Mary," he stated, answering the unspoken questions and concerns. "Just… didn't want to be around people today."

Marshall hiding from people – on his birthday of all days… Well, then, it was time to do what she was going to drink tonight to do tomorrow. Procrastination wouldn't bring a genuine smile back to his face.

"About your birthday present…"

"It's all right, Mare," he filled in, this time turning his head and gaze to her. "I really didn't expect anything. Seriously, there's nothing I really want or need." The grin this time was genuine, if small, the look in his eyes indulgent and far too tired in ways beyond sleep deprivation. She swallowed.

"Oh, I beg to differ, Inspector." Her tone was attempting humor, and she could tell he appreciated the effort, bit of crinkling at his eyes. "I happen to know there're one or two things you'd ask Santa for, and I'm insulted you think I didn't get you anything." Hands on hips to emphasize displeasure. The pose elicited a three-quarter chuckle before his eyes gentled.

"Okay, then; I'll bite." Brows rose in expectant query. Mary glanced down at her feet, shuffling the toe of one boot across worn planks.

"Um… it's sort of on back order," she claimed lamely.

"Uh-huh," he replied, but only in amusement. She knew he did not expect anything from her. In truth, Marshall never expected gifts from anyone – he just wanted people to celebrate life, to appreciate the gift of living.

Using the drink to occupy her fidgety hands, she shifted her weight nervously, then tried again.

"Seriously, Marshall," she began, and he must have heard the change in her voice. He looked up at her, head cocked slightly. She had his attention. Lips licked nervously. "I did get you something – sort of – but like I said, it's… kinda on a sort of back order." Trying not to ramble. Trying to not flake out. Trying not to _back_ out.

He waited patiently, sober in his features. Finally…

"It took me a while to realize what it was that you really, truly wanted. And we both know I'm not quick on the draw for that sort of thing, especially the things that interest _you_." Both chuckled at the truthfulness, then once more crickets and tree frogs and cicadas enveloped them. The dark had grown enough that she couldn't quite read his eyes, and for that she was thankful.

"Marshall… I think I know what would be the perfect birthday gift for you. I just can't… _give_ it to you right now. But I can give you the, er, claim receipt for it."

He looked at her quizzically now, brows furrowing in bemusement and worry.

"Mare…"

"No, Marshall, I'm serious." Finally she put down the heavy bottle carefully, knelt by his side. Met his eyes above her in the dim. He made to put his feet down and turn his body to face her, but her hand stilled his movement. Somehow this was easier.

She looked down again, focus resting on his shirt, belt.

"I haven't slept. I've thought and thought about this all night, longer than that if I were honest with myself. And I keep coming back to the same conclusion, the one thing in the world I think you would most want to have – something that lasts more than a day or week or until the warranty runs out. Something you'll never grow tired of, will always want. I know you, Marshall. I know sometimes you think I miss the details of your life, and yeah, maybe I do, but this… this I know. Beyond all question. This is the ultimate gift for you. I just hope you'll accept it from _me_…"

Though she couldn't make out the blue of his irises, Mary knew them to be dark in intense study. She wondered if he'd forgotten how to breathe, or was that her? Long moments, utter stillness. Her knees were aching from the hard floor, her head light from adrenaline overload. She took one of his hands between hers for the strength she knew it carried, and dove in. Met his face once more.

"Marshall… you're my best friend. My only friend. My partner. And nothing in the world would make me happier to be the one to make you smile, smile like I once saw when you were lost in thought. I want to be the one to give my best friend the one present he'd most love above all others. Forever."

Deep breath on her part; she still wasn't sure if his lungs were active.

"For your birthday, I want to give you…" She bit her lip nervously. "Give you…" Mouth dry, she'd fallen to a whisper. "My mind is made up, Marshall, and if you're willing to accept it from _me_, I want to give you… a baby. A child of your own."

The hand she held trembled slightly, and it wasn't from withheld laughter. His breath – she could hear it now, shallow and quick. Finally he spoke, voice ragged and strained…

"Mare, I–" But she cut him off.

"_Shhh_…" Pause… "Please, Marshall. Let me do this. For you."


End file.
